Page 11 of Roped

Again he says nothing, and yet I know exactly what he’s telling me with his silence.

But I don’t give up. “Right the fuck now.”

Nothing. Not a single word or even a blink of an eye, and I practically shout at him. “Fucking untie me, you asshole, or I’ll—”

“Not much you can do,” he says finally.

And I almost gasp from surprise. I wasn’t expecting him to speak. Not when he’s somehow so capable of communicating things with his silence. I certainly wasn’t expecting him to speak in anything more than a whisper like he did last night. Definitely not in a voice that sounds unused. Deep and rough, laden with cobwebs. Like he hasn’t spoken for some time now. Like I’m the first person he’s speaking to in days. Not to mention, I notice something. That when he speaks, the left side of his mouth moves slightly slower than his right, probably due to his scar. It’s so subtle, though, that I doubt it’s noticeable to most people.

He runs his green eyes over my face before adding, “The way you are, bound and roped.” Then, “’Cept maybe scream some more.”

I want to speak. I do. But I have to clench my teeth first to battle the onslaught of goose bumps over my skin. I somehow get myself under control and threaten, “So then, if you don’t untie me, I’ll scream your fucking head off.”

He looks at me a beat. “Got a thick skull.”

“You—”

“Gonna need sustenance, you wanna make the attempt to break through.”

I glance down at the bottle for a second. “Oh, is that sustenance?”

Again, he speaks through his silence.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Get that thing out of my face.”

He does not.

“Get it the fuck out of my face,” I state again.

When he still does nothing, I breathe out sharply and scream again, “Get your fucking sustenance out of my face right the fuck now. Or I swear to motherfucking God, I’ll—”

“Again,” he says in that raspy voice of his, “not much you can do.”

“Listen, you asshole, I will literally—”

“And screamin’ and cussin’, no matter how loud or creative, don’t count as threats. Just minor annoyances.”

I raise my eyebrows as I seethe. “Um… I beg your finest fucking pardon. Are you saying I’m somehow offending your asshole criminal sensibilities with my cursing? If you wanted a fucking lady, then you should’ve fucking kidnapped one, okay?”

His eyes roam over my features once again, and even furious and struggling against my bonds, I wonder what I look like right now. Probably all disheveled and dirty with tangled hair and a torn dress. While he looks… He looks like he belongs here, in the outdoors. Among the trees. With that tanned skin and his strong body, he looks like outdoors is his home rather than any structure made of walls and a roof. They probably wouldn’t be able to contain him, much like his clothes.

“Or I could just gag the one I took,” he murmurs.

My eyes pop wide as fear strikes a chord in my belly. “Don’t you dare.”

He studies me a beat. “Then watch your fuckin’ mouth.”

I glare at him, breathing harshly. “So you admit it then. That you took me. This is a kidnapping.”

Instead of responding, he keeps staring into my eyes. And still, somehow, I know he’s giving me a look. He’s telling me, Isn’t it obvious. And it is. I know this is a kidnapping. I don’t know why I asked him that. And I don’t know why having it confirmed is making me freak out more.

“Like you…” I try to pace my breathing, my heart ramming against my chest. “Like you k-kidnapped my best friend.” Nothing moves on his face, not even a muscle, and my throat goes dry. “You did, didn’t you? You took her. You took my… Where is she? What did you do to her? Do you know where Bo is? Are you working with him? Are you—”

It shouldn’t be so easy for him to cut my words off the way he just did. With a simple tip of the bottle and a look in his eyes that tells me to drink. And it shouldn’t be so easy for me to understand every word he’s not saying without even trying. I fist my tied hands and ask, “Who are you?”

Silence.

“What do you want?”